The Promise
by Cheisayume
Summary: There was nothing written on the pages there. Just darkness. It was no longer snow that fell from the sky and landed in his coal hair, that touched her lashes which were now prickling with crystals. It was ash. [A retelling of Cinderella, Beauty & the Beast, the Nightingale; GALE pairing]
1. Chapter 1

N**_ote before you read_**_: The Promise does take place in the same world as Nether, and though you might see events that coincide with those in Nether, you do not necessarily have to read both stories to understand what is going on;; Recently I've been entranced with the idea of incorporating numerous fairy tales with one another. That being said, The Promise is based off of Cinderella, Beauty and the Beast and a story known as the Nightingale. My goal, as it always is, is to make the story "POP" in your eyes. To have you see exactly what is going on, remember it and want to reread it at least once—to want more of the story after it, to want to see fanarts of a fanfiction, etc. I spent many a night and intervals of days trying to edit and edit and edit this to make it one of the best stories I've ever written. Please remember that reviews are always appreciated, as well as constructive criticism. I really do hope you enjoy this one—Gale is my absolute favorite pairing. I hope I can convey my love for them to you._

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><p><strong>The Promise<strong>

_"They took her beautiful clothes away from her, dressed her in an old gray smock, and gave her wooden shoes."_

Levy McGarden was born into a household that was exceptionally wealthy, especially for the times that this part of the country was going through. Her father, Bran, was a man of great standing, working as a businessman for Counsil member Ys. He was paid well and it allowed his family extra income when Levy's mother, a doctor, could not provide for everything. Despite the hard times, Levy was never without a smile on her face. She cherished her mother's ability to heal others and to keep the health upon their features, and her father's ability to help with the running of the country, though she did not quite yet understand just what he did—she never would, and that was not of coincidence. Levy was cared for as any princess might be, though she was the only one to believe that she was of divine birth. She was allowed to imagine her own stories, tell them to her willing mother and read books full of stories that some say all but ruin a child's head. Her father, at one point in time, spoke of such a thing to her mother, who chastised him for having thought the thing in the first place.

"Books are the stories we live when we are dreaming. They fuel our creativity and encourage adventure." Levy remembered the night they fought over whether or not she should be allowed to keep reading books from the bookstore as one of the only times her parents had ever argued. After that night, the subject was never spoken of again, and Levy was given two books for her birthday that year. One of a poor boy who fell in love with a rich princess, and another of a man who scaled a ladder to the moon just to reach the maiden living upon the thing. Her father crafted her a shelf where she could keep all of her books on and this brought a smile to the child's ruddy face.

But a year after her tenth birthday, consumption claimed her dear mother's life. Her father, being in Dyvyne some months of the year, was sent a letter by way of horse and came flying home when he heard news of Levy's mother's sickness. Unfortunately it attacked the woman much more quickly than the family would have liked (as they would have liked for it to have never happened at all), and her husband was not there at her deathbed when she fell into eternal sleep. Grief stricken and suddenly faced with the hardships of not having enough money to keep the lifestyle that he had once had, Bran and Levy sold off all of her mother's belongings save for a single dress, and some of Levy's own personal collection of books, which she held very dear to her heart. The only ones she kept were those whose binding had been worn off due to her constant rereading of them. Levy applied for a job and a week later was working as the youngest full-time waitress at the local tavern in Port Rile. It was hard, but it kept her busy. Her father returned to Dyvyne and started working overtime in order to supply what he could to the only daughter he had left. The next spring, however, he returned not with gifts, but with a new wife and two new daughters, both older than Levy was.

Of course Levy was astonished, but what could she do? Her father had had good reason for marrying into this new family. The woman was of rich standing and had an uncle who was on the Counsil and was a favorite of his—no doubt this is why she was dressed in much too lavish clothes for the Port. When her heels struck the wooden planks that were placed beside the carriage so as to not allow her expensive clothing to get soiled by the muddy streets of winter in the town, Levy could only stare. She was beautiful AND young. She looked the part of a goddess, and would have been viewed by the girl as such if she had not given Bran's true blood daughter the look of a venomous snake, coiled and ready to strike. After she was helped down, two girls a little older than she herself was also exited the carriage. With them came lavish gold-lined clothing that made their figures ever the more exotic-looking and attractive regarding shape and size.

For one week her father stayed with them, introducing them to life with one another, introducing them to one another and introducing a new way of life to those who had been born and raised in a town with white fences and marble statues. Levy had work every day except for Sundays, from the wee hours in the morning when the sun had still not risen until the sun went down. Her shift changed then, and she was allowed to go back home as soon as that golden disc disappeared into the horizon line. The girls, though, apparently had never worked a day in their life. Their mother and Levy worked together to prepare dinner each night, and Levy even went as far as to make them pastries for the morning. Despite the fact that all of these women were relatively different compared to her, she tried to see the good in everything that might come of this. If the woman was rich, then her father would have less stress on his shoulders with work. He would be able to come home more often. And having step-sisters would allow her to get more acquainted with the life of social living. Allow her to learn to share her things. Not that Levy had ever had a problem with sharing her things. She lent out books all the time to her friends and even gave some of her own hard earned money and home-made bread to those who were less fortunate than she. Needless to say, Levy did her best to accommodate the girls and their mother. She did her best to make them feel welcome—and she was doing a splendid job of it (or so her father said before he left).

However when her father did leave, Levy's world flipped upside down even further than she had thought it ever could. She was kicked out of her room, and one of the girls was put into it. Levy was placed in what used to be a servants quarters back when Port Rile was richer of a town. Now it was just old money that was ruling the place. The room was small, cramped and cold, especially now that the seasons were getting much colder. Her only warmth was a ratty old blanket that she had been graciously given and the fireplace in the corner that was always filled with cinders, which made both herself and the room dirty no matter what she tried to do in order to fix it. She uttered not a peep of this to her coworkers. Why? They had their own lives to worry about. Levy did not want to burden them with the trifles of her own life just because she was a bit uncomfortable. Besides, she was the youngest. Giving up her room to the older daughter was a sign of respect, was it not? And perhaps it was best to help them feel more at home; even if it did cause her backaches when she wiped down tables, washed dishes and carried heavy trays at the tavern. The unfair portion of her story began as soon as she got back from work though. While she was willing to give up her room and her objects of luxury to the new girls, she did not appreciate the fact that she was forced to clean the house, forced to do the cooking and the cleaning up of the place afterwards. Despite this, she kept her lips zipped, as she always did. For weeks and weeks she prayed quietly for her papa's return. For she missed his company. She missed her true family, but would never admit to such.

For five years this continued, her father visiting every so often, always with small tokens in tow to give to his family. Usually the clothes were for the step-sisters, jewelry for her step-mother, and a book for Levy. Not that she minded. This was what Levy loved, books. She could not care that she wore much of the same clothes each week and her newest piece was a hand-me-down from the oldest of her step-sisters. It had been given to her a year ago just because it was out of style and the girl could not bear to be seen wearing it.

By letter, word arrived that her father was going to be back within five days' time; and suddenly time flew on wings of glass. Levy was more sociable at work, she smiled more and she visited the old man at the bookshop more often as well. At the tavern she spoke to travelers and learned of some of their stories, making sure to remember the most interesting ones so that she may delve into a land of fantasy and adventure later if she had the time to just sit and think for a while. She earned as much as she could and when the day came that her father was to return, she took off work and came running to the door, throwing it open and embracing her father's tall frame as quickly as she could get her arms around him. She inhaled deeply, memorizing the scent that she already knew by heart once more. He stunk of smoke, of pipe weed, of leather and of sweat. He laughed heartily and roughly ruffled her hair, just as he used to do when her mother was still alive. This caused for a twist in her gut and she pulled back slowly, allowing for her step mother and sisters to greet the man they called their own as well. Levy forgot her small pricks of jealousy as soon as it came to be her turn to greet her father. It was bittersweet and Levy would remember his warmth for a while afterwards.

After dinner and a long talk with her step-mother, Bran came in the room to speak with his daughters. He went to the eldest first.

"I am to return to Dyvyne soon… I'm afraid I was not given considerable time for leave… when I return, I shall send gifts!" This caused a light to spark in both the older girls eyes and they looked at each other hastily, grins plastered on their sharp features. "What shall I send back?"

"I WANT CLOTHES!"

"Yes," said the other, "clothes and jewelry—lavish things that will grab the attention of the boys at school!" Bran only laughed at this, nodding his head in approval. Obviously money was not as big of a problem as it had been mere months beforehand.

"And you, my daughter? What would you like?" Having addressed Levy, his chocolate eyes bore into her intensely. "I think… a rose would do for a very fine bookmark." Bran smiled gently and genuinely. Trust his blood daughter to be of the more modest sort.

"Of course, I shall find dresses of the latest fashion for you two," he said, nodding his head towards the two older girls, and then turned to Levy once more, "and a rose for Levy." He then stood up, turning his back to them and going through his bedroom door, not to be seen until the next morning. However, her step sisters sneered at the words she had said for her father.

"A rose… how bland."

"You can buy those at the local market for less than the cost it will be of buying one in Dyvyne."

"Perhaps that is so, but I want one that papa has picked out for me."

"Strange. You are so strange." And with that, the two girls, as if in sync with one another, got up and left Levy to her own.

That night, Levy took parchment and a quill with a bottle of ink and began to write down the story of the man who was going to take on a winter trek to the Magnolian's in order to confront a dragon. She wrote of how he had come to be there, and why he was searching so desperately for the creature. He had fallen in love with one of the merfolk's most beautiful maiden's and was on a quest to earn her favor and her hand. She fell asleep on top of the thing, forgetting all about the candle beside her that she had been using for light. However it was not to be an object of fear, for the wind snuck in through the panes and extinguished the flame, allowing darkness to consume the room.


	2. Chapter 2

"…_when going through a large forest he lost himself…looking through a long walk of trees, he saw a light at some distance, and going on a little farther perceived it came from a palace illuminated from top to bottom."_

Two days later, Bran left Port Rile, aiming to return to Dyvyne, where he would be meeting with Ys to tell him of their loss of the pouches of Nether that had been inside the galleon Kell when it sank to the pits of the ocean. Where the pouches were now was unreachable. They had lost a great sum of money due to the storm that had taken the ship down and his boss would not be pleased to hear of such a thing from his mouth. Bran feared what his punishment for not picking a different ship would be.

That same night that he left, however, a great and powerful storm blew in from the east, making travel very difficult indeed for Bran and his steed. Many times he could not recall which way he had come from, and he found himself only awake out of the fear of being gobbled up by the creatures that made their home in this wood. He was good and lost by the time the sun had settled beneath the horizon line. Darkness encased him and his horse, and now the man dismounted, grabbing the creature by his reins and taking it upon himself to lead the poor animal to some trees where he thought they might be sheltered from the storm, if only a little. In doing so, the man cursed his ill-fated life. He rambled to the horse beside him, a thing that he had bought in Ignelle two years ago, and spoke of how everything in this world was fated to cause him misery. The death of his wonderful wife, the curse of his job that worked him into the ground, the man he was all but a servant to who would surely have his neck when he learned of the Kell's disappearance under the waves, of his youngest daughter having to also work for a good portion of her life due to his inability to provide enough money for them all… for the damned storm that now threatened both his and his horse's life. He, however, never cursed the horse, for it was a thing of grace and had never once failed him in the years that he had owned it.  
>While walking, a howl lifted upon the wind. It took a while for the man to distinguish it, for the gales screamed almost as loudly as the ache of hunger in a wolf's belly did. Not that wolves were the only dangerous thing out in these woods, but they were certainly there, and the pack had had nothing to chew on for the past week. With winter coming, the alpha had grown nervous, bringing his group closer to human infested towns, taking risks on sheep and cattle that strayed a little too far from their shepherds and farmers. A lost human was something of a miracle to the beasts, and their mouths overflowed with the hope that they would delve into something filling on this night. The trusty horse lifted his head, his ears cocked in the direction of whence the first howl came, and his nares flared, brown eyes wide against his black coat. Bran, finally mindful of the animal's keen hearing, turned his head in the same direction and drew his cloak in around him tighter. His bad luck was soon to grow into a hellish situation, for three wolves appeared just over the ridge that the horse and his man had taken to underneath a tree perched upon the lower half of it. Their amber orbs gleamed in the wintry night and they began to move quickly over the snow, aiming for the figure of a human and a stupid travelling companion.<p>

The horse, however, was not a fool as the wolves believed him to be. He squealed when the vargs first took their steps, and moved so that his stirrups were closer to the man who had saved him from being sent to a slaughter house. Seconds later, the man was upon his back once more, and the creature took off in the opposite direction, flying through the trees as a shadow does, stealthy, though not as elegant as it should have been, for there were already pockets of snow that disguised small footfalls that would cause the horse to stumble. The beast quickly would catch himself, however, and would continue on, rampaging through the night.

It continued like this for hours, or so it seemed. How much time actually passed is unknown to both man and creature, for it was seemed (due to the cold and the fear) to be much longer than it actually was. When Bran feared that the end was to come to him, his eyes found a light in the distance, and for a moment, he dare not believe his gaze. But with one glance behind him at the canines that were starting to catch up to his dear horse, he dug his heels into the beasts side and leaned forward so as to create less resistance against the swirling wind. He rode the poor creature straight into the castle, and found it strange when the howling of the wolves had stopped just outside the buildings walls. When he turned his head, pulling his horse to a stop, he found that the predatory animals were still there, but they dared not approach any further. Just after the wall was a strange sight. A thicket full of rose bushes. Bran turned his head and looked straight up the stone structure of what would be his saving grace and he thanked whatever kind of divine intervention had gotten him here safely.

He dismounted and went up to the door, his hand hovering just above the knocker when the portal swung open, creaking in the frigid temperatures and allowing the wind to swirl in. It was almost as if the building wanted him to enter. Wanted him to come inside. Was urging him to do so. And so he did, leading his horse with him. Whoever the master was of this place would just have to put up with him for a short while… he told himself this in order to calm himself down.  
>The man found himself drawn to a source of heat, a gargantuan fireplace that was lined with rustic designs, and a full mirror that was no doubt the height of the door he had entered through above it and the antlers of many a stag decorating the sides. When he was warm enough to think of something other than frostbite, Bran turned his neck, searching the antique ceiling panels painted with the same pattern over and over, a large chandelier that was no doubt of the old sort, for it had a lowering chain attached to it and there was no electric bulbs on its skeleton, but candles, whose wax had dripped too many a time down the metal.<p>

Later Bran had enough courage to go searching through the place, lighting a candle that was found beside the fireplace and leaving his horse near the front door so as to not anger the master any further than he already had. Though who owned such a grand place was unbeknownst to him, for it is said that all the richest of men live in the city of Dyvyne. Wherever this was, it was someplace he had never heard of, perhaps a lord that had taken to retirement out in the woods. On his way, he called out many times. The only sound he got back, however, was the fluttering of curtains in the wind provided by small openings in the glass panes, his footsteps, the howling outside, and the sound of his voice ricocheting off the armor that lined the wall with every ten feet or so.

Needless to say, the place was gigantic. It was soon, though, that Bran came upon a dining hall with a long table. And upon the table was a feast fit for a kingly figure. Bran's stomach clenched and he looked around, calling out once more before allowing silence to settle in around him. He stared at the food, and saliva slid into his mug, encouraging him forward. So he went, and he ate until he was full. As he was leaving the table, he saw that the finery he had dined on was indeed silver… and he pocketed a few of the utensils, wiped off a tiny saucer and also put that in his possession. Know now that Bran McGarden is no poor man, nor is he a thief, but he thought perhaps that these would be nice souvenirs for his wife when he told her the story of how he became lost in a snowstorm and found an old castle which the wolves would not approach.

When he attempted to return back to the fire, however, something he had never dreamed of greeted him when he took a wrong turn. It was by the painting that had been, strangely, covered in a black veil. Bran had noticed it because it was ripped, pieces of the canvas having fallen to the floor despite the veil already suggesting that whoever it was had already passed on. It was such a strange, eerie display that Bran forgot all about the way back to the fireplace he had left his horse near and took a right instead of a left. At first the man thought it to be yet another suit of armor, for the light from a candle attached to the wall glinted off a metallic body. But his gaze widened dramatically when it moved, revealing the thing to be a living organism. Without thinking, Bran turned and sped back down the way that he had come, his heart reaching his throat, wishing that he had never entered the structure.

It was no wonder that the wolves had not dared to come anywhere near the place. It was the devil himself who was the master here!

Behind him, heavy steps caught up, and he was thrown to the floor, his body sliding off the carpet that lined the hallway and into the wall. His head made a disgusting crack when it collided with the stone and he felt himself being pulled up by his shirt collar. His vision blurred for a second—due to fear and the concussion that he had suffered just moments beforehand. Bran raised his hands to his throat, holding onto the arm that clutched him there. The hand let go of him, and then tightened around his throat. The man tried to scream, but no sound came out.  
>Before him… was what he could only describe as a Beast.<p>

Two ebony horns came from the creatures head, not standing straight up or curling round his ears as most cow and oxen ones will, but instead protruded from him at a 45 degree angle, curling back at least a foot in length. They were much like what Blackfoot antelope horns will grow to be. He stood tall, at least six foot, if not more, and on legs that resembled a dragons, covered in steel scales that up to his waist. The rest of him was steel-plated, covered in scars, save for his face, which was the only semi-human looking part of him. The flesh there had not been touched by the scales yet, though there was a clock ticking for that too. His hands, were clawed, and scales patterned up his arm, past his elbow and over his shoulder, onto his neck, up to his jawline. Black hair that reached his waist fell behind him in a heap, and it would not have surprised Bran if it ended up having a life of its own with sharp teeth at the end of it. It did not, but these are the kinds of things you start thinking when you are face to face with a… a demon. Eyes of crude oil stared him down, the darkness overwhelming within them.

"I allow you into my home only to have you wander my castle without question. First you stride through my halls and then you eat my food… and not just that! You also steal what is rightfully my own!" The hand tightened and Bran squeaked under its pressure. "Tell me now what you will about why you have come and why I should have mercy on your pitiful soul."

"A family—," he gasped when he was allowed to speak for a short while, "daughters-." The creature growled, the sound suddenly taking up every inch of space that had been between the two. The deep scarlet cloak that was worn by the creature billowed out beside them, driven by the momentum that he now placed on the human's throat.

"It is said that a liar will always use women for an excuse—" Bran shook his head no, tears starting to form in his bulging eyes. Heat was being forced to his head now, and the low amount of oxygen that he was getting was barely enough to cool him. Talons tapped the stone behind him, threatening and dangerous. Bran could only imagine having his neck slit open in the back and his spinal column being torn out of his body. "I will overlook your rancid behavior and allow you to go free," the creature growled, his voice deep and throaty, echoing off of the stone walls. Each breath that Bran took was recorded in the atmosphere there with little puffs of smoke that disappeared nearly as quickly as they came from his parted mouth, "if you give me one of your daughters to have as a servant."

Bran's breath stopped then. Did he dare? Did he dare save his own life by putting one of his girls in the line of fire? His hazel eyes darted to the window behind the creature who had begun to crowd his space. The rock against his back was hard, uncomfortable. It dug into his spine, no doubt angering the bone into becoming ache-y. None of his daughters had worked a day in their lives beside Levy. She was accustomed to such treatment, though he was not glad to be able to admit to such. Neither one of his step-daughters would survive the experience… but Levy… his eyes returned to the devil, and he rearranged his face grimly.

"You have my word."

"If that means anything, of course. If she does not arrive within a fortnight, I will find you and tear out each organ in your foul body, allowing you to live only until the last possible moment."  
>The clawed hand retreated from his throat and Bran exhaled, sliding against the wall and into a more relaxed position on the floor. What had he just done? He'd damned his favorite child to a hell on earth. The inside of his cheek now was raw from having bit himself on it too many times. She would most likely never forgive him.<p>

Of course this was not true, he knew that it was in Levy's nature to be kind and gentle-hearted. She easily forgave, though he could not say as much about the forgetting part. He supposed she still held a small bit of grief against him for not being there when her mother needed him most. Bran held his chest and lowered his head, defeated, when the beast brought back a quill and a piece of parchment. He dropped the objects in front of the man and watched as the human shuddered away from them. The gruff voice became audible once more.

"I have drawn a map; if you are telling the truth and are from Port Rile, the directions are clearly stated on the parchment. Write her a letter and I will set you free."

"And my horse?"

"Will be ready for you in the morning when the storm has passed."

Bran reached forward for the quill, knowing that what he was doing was selfish, and he snatched it up in trembling fingers. When he was finished, he huddled back against the wall, wrapping his wet cloak around him for the little good that it would do for him and he fell into a fitful sleep. When he woke, the door was unlocked and the main door, the large one he had come in just last night, was held open by a rock. Outside was his black horse, as promised, unharmed and looking to be in better shape than Bran himself was.

Bran took off as quickly as he could, allowing the horse to carry him to the capital city, Dyvyne without once hitting another stop. He arrived safe and sound, though guilt and remorse ate away at his gut.

And so the letter was sent, and it arrived days later in the hands of Bran's youngest daughter, sweet, young, beautiful Levy. Happy to have received word from her father so soon, Levy spent all day with her hand brushing up against the letter's envelope. However she had work to do and could not take her eyes off any of the tables for a minute, much less let her coworkers and her boss down just because she wanted to read a short letter that her father had sent her. She would have plenty of time after work before she got back home to unseal the thing and drag her hungry eyes over it. And when she did get off, she threw her apron to the side and went out the back door, shouting her goodbyes to those where still inside. They smiled after her, truly considerate and thankful for the work she had done. Outside, she sat on the step just outside the kitchen door in the alley. She worked on re-lacing her shoes, as they had come loose while she had worked. The girl settled herself down and clumsily messed with the strings, tearing open the letter with her free hand and unfolding it. Inside she was surprised to find not just a letter, but also a map with instructions on how to direct oneself there. She stared at it for a moment, then glued her eyes to the cursive lettering on the other page.  
>It read:<p>

_My dear Levy,  
>I have found you many a rose, but know not which one to pick for you. Please come and see them for yourself and choose the one that you like best out of them. I am sure that you will be pleased with the spot—it is a day and a half's ride so please start out in the morning. Ride constantly, and do not be put off by the lengthy travel. You will most certainly appreciate the end of your journey, and I hope that you will be satisfied with what you find there.<em>_  
>My love is yours to keep~<br>Father._

While she had been reading, a smile had grown upon her facial features, spreading a Cheshire grin would across her palette. Tucking the unfinished laces back into her boot, she stood up quickly and dusted off her dress, folding the letter carefully along with the map and stuffing it in her satchel before taking off at a run down the cobblestone pathway. Shadows leapt away from her approaching form as she flew merrily back to the house that she could barely call her own anymore. It would be wonderful to get away, if only for a day. And it was Sunday tomorrow, which meant that she wouldn't have to take off work. However she would have to leave in the wee hours of the morning before everyone else was up so that she did not get stuck cleaning the household. Levy could barely contain her joy, and she almost slipped and fell twice on her way back. Flour was dusted into her blue hair and she would have to take a cold bath tonight in order to clean all the grime off of her.

While she was working at her house, cleaning the dishes after dinner, she decided that she would sleep in the stable. That way, at first light she would saddle Dapplegrim, the trusty old draft gelding their neighbor had had for years (and had given Levy her first riding lessons on; his owner said that so long as she made sure to return him, she was allowed to take him anywhere for travel), and take him out without anyone waking up to the creak of the front door. Her plan went smoothly and no one asked for her when she snuck out the window with a wrapped parcel of bread and cheese to his stall.

The night passed quickly for her there and a short storm came in the early hours, waking her and gently easing her out of her dreams with the steady patter of soft rain and the metallic scent that comes with such showers on the breeze. By the time the sun hit the horizon line, Levy had already put a blanket and saddle on Dapplegrim, the map tucked safely down the front of her shirt (which had been, along with loose fitting pants suited for riding, borrowed from a neighbor lad), and she strode out, leading the old boy by his reins. When she was on the main road, she swung up onto him and trotted out of the Port and into the forest.


	3. Chapter 3

_"__Not that Beauty cared for a rose, but she asked for something, lest she should seem by her example to condemn her sisters' conduct, who would have said she did it only to look particular."_

The letter must have been mis-written, for it did not take near as much time as her father had told her it would to reach the place that was marked on the hand-drawn map stuffed down her shirt. She took it out once more, scanning her hazel eyes over and over it again. Was this even right? Why had her father gone North instead of straight East? Levy bit her lip as she rode, reminding herself to loosen up her hands lest her whole body become tense. Dapplegrim surely wouldn't appreciate the extra nervousness above him when he was already outside of his comfort zone. Not that anything could scare this horse. He was bombproof—but still the girl didn't want to take her chances. Her gaze swept from side to side, seeking out signs that were marked on the map that would allow her to acknowledge the fact that she was going in the right direction.

She surprised herself when she found that she was indeed heading in the correct direction. She passed a huge coniferous tree that had a scar in its side far above her head. Little Levy stared at it even as her horse passed it nonchalantly. Although there was still snow on the ground from a few days ago, the chill in the air was by no means contributed by the stuff. The sun, in fact, played more of a role in the weather than the season did. Levy could have done with a cloak, but it was not necessarily required. She ducked as the trees began to lower their branches—a sign that the ground was not exactly even underneath her. And, in fact, it wasn't. When she looked forward again, she found that Dapplegrim had begun to climb a hill that she hadn't even seen coming up. Then again the forest was starting to thin out here… Focused on what lay straight ahead, Levy didn't even feel as a needle struck the side of her face, slitting her porcelain flesh into a thin line of red and allow blood to pull itself to the surface. Her eyes were wide and her hair framed her face, waving this way and that as she remained transfixed on the sight before her. She pulled Dapplegrim to a stop.

A castle—if that's what you could call it, surrounded by a short wall that had roses growing up the side of it in, not clusters but, colonies. Levy felt tears string crystals into her eyes like pearls on a necklace. They were red, the same color that her stepmother put on her lips each morning though she rarely left the house, and still laced with a delicate layer of frost. With a whinny that sent smoke billowing into the thin atmosphere, she urged the horse forward, his hooves knowing just where to put themselves so that he and his young rider did not tumble to the ground. All the while, Levy gawked. How had she never known of this place? Was it because the forest had always been an obstacle to her adventures? It was true that she was told never to go alone into the place… but… this place had an air to it that screamed something totally different. It was something that came out of her novels. The soft charcoal colors of the building, mixed in with the dilapidated structure itself… it was simply marvelous. Something that she had seen only in her dreams. It was beautiful in an estranged and terrifying way.

The front gates were open—and though she had only come for a rose, she passed by them without glancing back. Something was drawing her in… beckoning for her to come closer. And, being the naïve girl that she was, Levy followed it as one is told to follow their heart. Not far from the gate, however, Dapplegrim began to act up. His rider had to turn him in circles many times before he finally stood still enough for her to get down and plant her feet on the ground. Leaving his side and not even thinking about tying him, she ventured forward, staring at the chiseled doorway, admiring its fearsome splendor. Though the details surrounding the door were exceptionally beautiful, she was only interested in the fact that one of the two large doors was already cracked open a bit. Her slim fingers eased their way forward, grabbing onto the wooden panel and pulling it just a bit. The sight inside that greeted her was overwhelming. Every inch of the place was carved as if it housed a kingly figure—and perhaps it had in its past. The patterned tiles on the ceiling were by far her most favorite part. Each one was exactly the same, though they had definitely been carved at different times. Painted far from one another and then put together as twins would. The light from the doorway cast eerie shadows—and the frames on the wall were her next victim to be scanned. She touched one of the canvases after passing a suit of armor that had never seen battle. The strokes could be felt—which meant that this was the home of a very rich family—passed down for centuries.

Behind her, a loud clatter signified that the door had been shut, and she swung around, eyes wide and mouth opened, inhaling a silent scream. And when her eyes adjusted to the darkness and she was able to make out the figure of… of something… she did not hesitate. She did not wait to twist around and start running. Her arms pumped and she searched frantically for doorways, halls that might lead to an escape of sorts. Her legs were aching—she had not ridden a horse in a while, and Dapplegrim was not the most skinny thing out there. His stomach was rotund, spreading her legs apart even further than they should have been. Now they screamed with discomfort, begging for her to stop directing her anxiety towards physical work. But she could not do that.

Had her father known what was inside the building? She bit her lip, trying to stop her frightened tears from spilling onto her cheeks. This failed, and soon her cut from before stung with a pulsing pain. Dodging right, she sprinted up a staircase that was meant for huge parties to maneuver if necessary. She tripped twice, but instead of allowing herself to obsess over her mistake, she kept pushing forward, panting heavily. At the top she took a left and pushed open the only door that was at the end of the hall. It was a bedroom—it looked more like a pit for uwanted items. Broken chairs were flung against the wall, the bed had fallen off one of its legs, the posts were all but gone and the ceiling had scratches along it. Levy stopped, looking from side to side frantically. Her breast heaved, and she heard the door open behind her. Turning to see just what she saw had closed the front door before, she moved her body so she was facing it. Her shoulders hunched and she backed up, her hands in front of her. Glass crunched under her feet and suddenly a gust of cold wind hit her. A moment to assess her surroundings was taken. A balcony?! She pressed her rear up against the railing as the thing approached her. Tears were streaming down her face now, though she glared with the tenacity of a cornered tiger. She didn't want to die—but she wasn't about to go down without a fight. The beast stepped into the light and she felt her heart clench in frantic panic. Suddenly—all her thoughts stopped. Her vision faded and darkness clouded her knowledge. Everything went black.

She had fainted. Her first thought was such when she finally came to. She had fainted and she was not dead. Relief poured through her sternum, allowing her to breathe easier. But where was she now? In her sights was a luxurious tall ceiling, draped with white fabric held up by posts that could only point out that she was resting on a bed. Outside the sun was still up—but that did not mean that it was not the next day, or the next—or perhaps even the next week… A small flutter of panic started up once again in her chest and she sat up quickly, dismissing the velvet touch of the duvet cover on the bed. It mattered not how nice the setup was. She was still within the terrifying abode of a creature she could only describe as a monster. The head rush that took her was frightening. Levy truly believed that she was going witnessing herself faint once more. She pressed her palms to her face and closed her eyes tight. But surprise hit her head on when she found that the cut on her cheek had been bandaged. She ran her fingertips along it, her vision slowly coming back. The uneven gauze was a comfort, even if just a small one. Levy turned her head, memorizing her surroundings with little effort. In front of this four pillared bed was a white dresser which had a hand mirror lying upside down upon it. To the right of her was a large window… big enough for a balcony to be located there, but to her surprise, there was no balcony. And a wardrobe in the corner as well, right next to the window.

She put her feet on the ground, testing whether or not it would hold her weight before she continued towards a single door next to the dresser. It was not the main one, for that one had two handles, and this one just a single brass knob. When she turned the thing and forced the door open, she found herself in a beautiful bathroom. Again, something that should have been in a fairytale book. Levy swallowed and looked behind her hesitantly. There were already towels that had the texture of what she imagined clouds felt like in the mirrored room… and the tub was beckoning her with a hand that promised comfort. She stepped into its boundaries and quietly shut the door behind her, fumbling for a lock. But there was none. Not irked in the slightest by this fact, she moved to the side of the basin and put her small hands on the knobs that, when turned, sent water shooting out of the faucet. It took her a few tries to find the right temperature, and a good ten minutes before she figured out how to plug the tub so that the water did not flow freely back into an unknown abyss.

When it was finally safe to leave the tub to fill itself, she turned to view herself in the wall of mirrors. She looked horrid. Her hair was a mess, sticking to her face in some parts and fluffed up in others. Bruises on her ankles showed just how much strain she had put on herself when running, raw calluses on her hands from Dapplegrim's reins… the bandage on her cheek she gently took off, setting it down so that she could use it later again. Though she decided against this when she found that its contents were soaked through by a line of blood and grime. First to come off was her shirt. Being small breasted, Levy had never really had to wear a corset or lace strap before. So her bare skin bubbled with goose bumps when she exposed it to virgin air. Then went her pants and her underwear. She turned around so that she could see the back of her and found that her tailbone was bruised—probably from the saddle that was too big for her to start with. Exhaling softly, the girl strode forward, swirling her hand in the water before she turned off the faucet and maneuvered herself into the tub.

How long she stayed in that tub, she didn't know or care. She took her sweet time in scrubbing herself with a pumice stone that looked to be unused for the most part, and ran her grubby nails through her hair under the steaming water. The fibers moved with her every touch and eventually both her nails and her hair was free from dirt and grime. The tub was made from copper, and the warmth of the water had passed onto the material itself. Whenever the girl placed her back up against the tub, she could feel the tension in her shoulders melt away.

After drying herself off, Levy still didn't go out. Instead she sat herself on the chair that was next to the tabletop that held all sorts of girly things and stared at herself again. She had never put on makeup in her life. Though her stepsisters were obsessed with the stuff that made their faces all powdery and pasty, she could care less about it. With this said, Levy had never truly been able to experiment with it either. She picked up items that looked interesting and messed with them a bit, opened them up, turned them in her hands… but she didn't put a single one of them in contact with her flesh. Speaking about… her attention turned back to the bandage that had been on her face when she woke up. Staring at it, she wondered just who had put it there. Flashes of what had caused her to faint had her shaking her head, closing her eyes shut so tightly that it hurt when she reopened them to her reflection once more. Her hand raised to her cheek, tracing a ghostly touch over the incision. Biting her lip, she stood up swiftly and tiptoed her way back into the room she had woken up in. Of course she didn't barge back into it. Instead, she peeked her head around the corner (after all, the only thing covering her was a towel…) and, finding that there was no danger to speak of, she moved towards the wardrobe. Slowly the girl opened it, afraid that she would find a colony of flesh-eating moths… but instead she found something entirely different.

She shut the door as quickly as she could, her eyes wide. A moment later she reopened it, then shut it again. Was that even real? Sure she had never been the type to beg for dresses and pearls and diamonds… she was the modest one of her family. But… even her heart pounded when she saw a beautiful dress. And inside of this wardrobe was just that. Ball gowns and dinner dresses. Some of them were more modest than the others, but the majority of them shone as if they had their own personal starlight tucked into their folds. Levy swallowed and turned to the dresser, hoping to find something that was a little more her speed. But that was just full of socks, gloves, stockings, little flat shoes, earrings and necklaces, lace coverings and undergarments. Levy reminded herself to breathe as calmly as she could as she turned around and made her way back to that wardrobe. This time, right after she put her fingers on the little knobs, she flung the doors open. Standing on her tiptoes, she snatched up the plainest looking one and slammed the doors shut. It was only when she put the dress on the bed to stare at it that she found she had been holding her breath. It wasn't as glittery as the others. In fact, the only thing that really flaunted it's price was the lace lining the modestly arced neckline. The sleeves were three quarters in long with two buttons near the end of their length and the dress reached to the ground with a bow placed on the back. The color wasn't really all that bad, a hazed cocoa—but it had definitely never been worn. Levy squirmed into it. Then came the problem of what to wear underneath it besides a pair of panties. The shoes that were in the dresser looked like the kind that pinched your feet… so instead, Levy put on the boots she had at the end of the bed—the same ones she had ridden here in, and laced them up. When she was finished, she stood up and prepared herself to open the door.

What was beyond that door could be anything. She could be faced with her death once more amongst all other things. Just as she was gathering up her courage to push the handle down, a loud rapping came from the other side. Her eyes went wide and she stepped back in surprise. No sound came from either side for a while—and then the knocking came again, more urgent this time and definitely louder. Levy thought that the door would come off of it's hinges.

"Who is it?!" She breathed, trying to keep her voice from shivering. If she could face the lewd men at the tavern every day, she could face a closed door.

"The Master of this home." Levy swallowed.

"What is it?"

"Your father has given me your freedom in turn for his own. This will be your home from now on. If you attempt to leave, I will kill you." A pause. Levy felt herself screaming internally. But the sound would never reach her lips. "Dinner is in two hours. Join me."

"… And if I refuse?" A feral snarl, animal-like in nature, replied before words were even spit into the distance between the two. Thankfully most of their wrath hit the wooden barricade.

"You WILL be there." Footsteps echoed down the hallway and soon disappeared all together. Levy backed up and sat herself on the bed once more. She knew not what was worse. That her father had betrayed her (or perhaps had sent her not knowing just what lay inside the castle); or that she was now the property of a creature who could not be human in any possible way. Inside or out.

_I honestly have three different endings for this and I don't know which one to pick; Also I was trying to finish a journal assignment (which consists of 7 hellish questions that we have to answer about what the author's main thesis is, their reason for writing, the audience, where we see their point, etc.) while writing this—so like three questions to answer and then as much as I could write on this for like 15 minutes. Baby steps, baby steps. Thank you again, everyone, for reading this and being patient with me. I appreciate you so much!_


	4. Chapter 4

_"__And when the nightingale sang, it sounded to the emperor as many tiny glass bells."_

It turned out that there was a grand clock just outside her door—or so it sounded to be as such. For whenever an hour went by, it would loudly proclaim its love for chimes and strike whatever hour it was. At first it was five… then six… and finally, seven. When the last dreaded clang rang through the elaborate halls and sounded through the cracks in her double doors, Levy's stomach replied to it, growling in despair at her not having anything to eat since… well in a while. Who knew how long she had been out cold?

Levy stood up, peeked through her door after gaining the courage to push down on the handle that kept her distanced from the world outside and the room she knew like the back of her hand now. She had searched every inch of it, finding little hidden places, long forgotten books that were covered with dust and god knows what else underneath the bed. But they were in a different language, and Levy could not decipher the meaning of the letters arrangement. So she had put them down and slid slowly to her door. Seeing that there was no one outside the room, she slipped out. Her dirty boots looked comic every time she looked down. They contrasted with a brilliant embarrassment against the rich carpeting on the floor.

No doubt she looked silly. A girl in the plainest dress form the wardrobe, a cocoa colored one that reached the ground with lace round the neckline and three quarter sleeves with a bow pulling her waist tight in the back. She took her sweet time, although the creature she was housing with had demanded her appearance at dinner round this….

Levy stopped mid-stride. With a quick squeak of her shoes, she swerved into a corner where a window was, covered by a thick velvet curtain. She dashed behind it and put a hand over her mouth, an attempt to keep her breathing quiet.

From down the hall came a soft noise… remarkably silent for such a huge creature to be walking upon. Talons tapped a steady rhythm every time they settled their bearers weight on the ground beneath them. Levy felt her heart pound against her ribs, a pain that was not easy to ignore.

"Why is she not coming?!" Was he talking to himself? Levy's wonders were answered soon, when a different voice, entirely different from the rough edges of the beasts replied.

"Perhaps you have…"

"FRIGHTENED HER?!" The roar echoed down the halls, bouncing off every piece of carving that it could. The size of the room amplified its power and Levy closed her eyes, biting into her fingers.

"Well yes." Was there another person here?! A prisoner too? Levy's curiosity got the better of her and she edged her other hand to the edge of the curtain, the tips finding fringe and reaching to pull it… When beside her hands slammed on the window pane. She froze, her eyes wide, no longer breathing. Slowly those hazel eyes turned in that direction. And she got a good look at the hands that could only be born for demons or dragons. The silver scales that flew from the very tips of the fingers covered all the way up, reflecting in the light and throwing little lights all around. And the claws… dangerous and even more terrifying than the skin… She stiffened as the creature banged his head up against the window. The girl was sure that it was going to break from the horns that sprouted from his skull… but it didn't. Instead, the collision seemed to be a soft one. His breath sent smoke against the glass. And right there was his only human features. The face of this man was handsome, or it should have been if he were mortal and not a devil. The silver scales only pattered to his chin and around his forehead. His eyes, though harsh, held great pain. And when Levy realized this, she found herself… softening.

"Perhaps, though, if you ask her one more time."

"What good would that do?" Was the sound that came from his mouth now even possible? He seemed to be weakened. As if he was tired of trying to make something happen.

"If you are calm, collected and kind, I am sure she will at least consider it."

The beast moved back, eyes transfixed out the window. Levy prayed to whatever angel might be watching over her in this hell-forsaken place that she wouldn't be seen… that he wouldn't turn his head in her direction. And her prayers must have been heard, for he moved away from the window and continued down the hallway. Towards her room. Where she was not in. A different sort of panic slew some kind of hope within the girl's body and she jumped into action. Her boots slammed against the floor and she battled away the velvety curtain with frantic fingers, throwing it to the side and dashing down the hall, towards the dining room. Or wherever the smell of the food was coming from. She slowed as soon as she found it, brushed out the folds from her romp in her dress, and stood beside the fireplace that the table was located in front of.

While she waited for him to return (for she knew he surely would), she held her wrist behind her back, playing with the folds of the bow, and marveling at the chandelier just above the wooden table. Which, by the way, was a sight within itself. Golden and silver and glass laced the tabletop, placed in unique formations just on top of a dark tablecloth… no doubt made form some kind of imported fabric that must have cost more than her life if she was ever…

A form came in from the doorway, and stopped there. Levy shivered as she readied herself for the being she was to share dinner with.

He looked stunned. And no doubt he was. She had managed to somehow get to the dining room without him seeing her. A small smirk felt its way to the corner of her soft lips, tugging it up just a bit before she scolded herself and sent it back into the place from whence it came.

"You… how…"

"Sorry for being late." She zipped her lips before she could say something very rude. She did not want to hasten her death. If she could live for just one more day without being ripped to shreds by those claws she had seen tapping against the window sill…. Well wouldn't that be something. The blue haired girl snatched a plate from one seat and made her way around the table, scooping food she had never before seen in her life onto the thing. All the while, she was very much aware that she was being followed with those too-human eyes. And at some point in time, she heard him approach behind her and she willed her hand not to shake as she popped some kind of concoction onto what was left on her plate. He came closer, and she gripped the plate tightly. He grabbed his own plate and went around the opposite direction. She watched under her lashes at his grace with the utensils. He was able to do exactly as she did with hands that held knives on each finger…

She turned to her chair, sat down and picked a fork that looked like a normal one, not too long, and one with the right amount of prongs. Looking up, she decided that waiting would be the ideal thing to do. She didn't know how the rules here worked. Was she supposed to treat him as royalty if he was the owner of this grand abode? Her thoughts tricked her though. She waited with her hands in her lap, twisting that fork. Was he truly royalty? Could he have… no. Curses didn't exist. They were magic. Magic here didn't come around easily. Levy remembered just then the face of that sailor. Gray. She wondered if he had found the dragon yet…

Or if this creature here was the one he was really looking for. Her eyes flickered to the beasts and she found that he had caught onto her gaze from across the table. He held her eyes, and she was the one to break the contact. Instead of waiting any longer, she stabbed her fork into the food and shoveled it into her mouth, totally not caring if her manners were not that of a proper 'lady.' She had lived with proper ladies for a while now, and with the way she had been treated by them, Levy had decided she did not like the way ladies were. And that she was to be something entirely different from a proper lady in their eyes.

He watched her as she gorged herself. No doubt that she was hungry. She had been unconscious for a good amount of time, and her body was probably sending her warning signals that she could not ignore. And the beast was right. Levy allowed her gaze to settle on him every once in a while, viewing at just how he managed to use those small silver spoons and forks despite the size and nature of his grip. But he was even better at manners than she was. When she was done, she stood up, wiped her mouth, slid a steak knife into the folds of her skirt and excused herself. Why the knife? In case she would ever need to defend herself from a night attack… or if he decided that human food wasn't good enough for him. If he found that human flesh was more appealing than cooked pig.

Days passed, and she performed chores that kept her mind and heart busy to the point where she could not think about anything else. And every night at seven, she adorned a dress (though she kept those boots every time) and ate across the table from the creature that had hidden her away from the world. He actually began to accompany her from her room so that the two would be able to walk in silence. Sometimes they spoke of how the winter was to be harsh this year. Or what might be for dinner. Sometimes he didn't even look in her direction. She kept the knife she had taken safe in the night stand beside her bed, covered with a kerchief. But she never had to pull it out. And soon it was all but forgotten.

One day, she was fixing up her room a while before heading out, already dressed and ready, and she found herself singing a lullaby her mother had sung to her. Since her mother had been a traveler from far away, she spoke two languages, one that Levy had never learned, and the one that they had used every day. This lullaby was in that soft language, which had consonants that flowed together as smoothly as a glass window did. Somewhere throughout her song, a creak slid as a knife does through her consciousness. She stopped her singing immediately, her hazel eyes stricken with surprise when she turned around to find that the creature was there, watching her. He held his hands up in a surrendering motion and she watched as he tried to make himself look a bit smaller. A bit less intimidating.

"Forgive me… I was coming up to inform you that dinner will be early this evening—when I heard you singing I…" His words ceased their volume and he seemed to be searching the pale room for the best possible way to put his thoughts to his tongue. Levy now turned her whole body and smiled a little nervously. It was true that in recent days she had been able to stay around this man (strange that she now considered him as such) without even batting an eye about his… condition. His physique no longer bothered her as much as it had before, and she was able to approach him now, slide past him in the doorway and make her way slowly down the hallway. She twisted her head a bit and held out her arm. He watched her with suspicion, the words still frozen on his tongue, then grunted, something he did when he was trying to hide a smile, and he offered his arm for her to wrap her own around. She took it gratefully and the two walked down the hall to the dining room. Their idle chatter was livelier this night, and Levy found herself smiling truthfully. Something she had not done in a long, long, long while.


	5. Chapter 5

_"Beauty daily discovered some valuable qualifications in the monster, and seeing him often had so accustomed her to his deformity, that, far from dreading the time of his visit, she would often look on her watch to see when it would be nine, for the Beast never missed coming at that hour."_

It became something of a ritual for her to be greeted in the morning. If she stayed in her room till the hour of nine, the beast would come to her room and knock upon her door. If she went down the stairs and was in one of the many halls, he would find her and walk beside her to breakfast.

Whoever made these fine meals was a saint to Levy. She was sure that it was not the beast himself—for what can one do with claws that tore everything to pieces? But no matter how much she searched, or how long she looked—no matter where she went on her mad adventures, she never found a cook of any kind. Even that voice she had heard that one day speaking to the beast was still a ghost in her mind. She herself began to cook a bit—but when she burned herself one day, the creature having found her with a tortured look on her palette and pain echoing in her eyes as she ran her skin under cold water, he seized the opportunity to relieve her of her job preparing food. So, to make up for it, Levy began to find comfort in caring for the animals inside the barn. Dapplegrim had put on even more weight, but she never got on him—for there was still fear there that the beast would perhaps believe that she was trying to find means to escape. There were chickens and two cows—a goat and of course, Dapplegrim. She did her best to do as much work as she could with them. But the chickens were off limits, for the rooster in their coop was a mean old badger who would peck at anything that lived and breathed under the sun besides his harem of feathery women.

What did she work in when she was here? A marvelous question. Seeing as Levy did not take very kindly to one of the more elaborate dresses, she had set upon disarming it entirely during the night. By the next morning, when the beast came to her room and knocked on the door, she emerged in makeshift trousers and a light top. He stared at it, then looked past her at the scraps upon the bed, his face contorting from surprise to a mix of anger and dismay.

"If you wanted a man's clothes so badly, you should have asked!" He snarled, following her as she moved past him with the gait of a madman and the figure of a demon hunched in disgust. Levy replied with extra cheek to spare, totally fearless of the shadow moving along behind her.

"If I had, you would have told me that the clothes here were perfect and there was no reason to have anything besides them." This earned her a low guttural growl. "Besides, I can do many more things now that I don't have to watch my every step. Fine clothes are not made for doing chores in."

"Cleaning dresses is not a troublesome t—" He was stopped short by the small figure's turn on her heel, her eyes challenging his own. Her mouth, of course, was the sharpest weapon she had.

"It is when you're the one who's breaking your back as you scrub the grime out of it." She tossed her hair a bit and then kept going, her own pair of boots stabbing the floor with determination. When she reached the doors that lead to the main courtyard, which was, in turn, the passageway to the stables, she felt a weight settle upon her shoulders. A… a cloak?

She looked at the creature in suspicion. His eyes were facing outside, his jaw set and his horns glistening in the light the doors had opened up on him. Those eyes he had were not black as she had first thought them to be. But instead were… crimson?

"For the cold." And he stalked away, leaving her to watch in curiosity as he went. When he was no longer visible, she opened the door further and slipped outside, shutting it behind her with a loud bang.

While she worked, she sang. For singing kept away nervous thoughts, and scared the silence into small nooks and crannies that she could not pinpoint without quieting herself. She enjoyed the work. And sometimes she found that a window close-by would be propped open. She wondered at this, and one day, she sang as she moved towards one, peering in. What she found caused her to smile like an idiot. For the beast was listening to her. Whenever she worked, wherever she worked, a window was always open. And this was a sort of peace flag. As if her singing had brought them closer in a way.

At dinner one night, she brought up the matter of her singing, and asked if it was a trouble to him in the castle when she was working. He replied swiftly, denying that it was of any sort of distraction, and that he didn't mind her song. She smiled secretly as she brought a tiny ladle to her mouth, sipping the soup she had been presented quietly, aware that his gaze had turned from one of denial to that of deep thought. No doubt he was pondering just why she had asked him in the first place. Levy only sipped her soup and smiled to herself.

When many days had been counted on the wall in her bathroom, hidden by a tapestry of a unicorn in a pen, Levy found that she had been in the same place for two months. She delved deeper into her thoughts as she settled herself into bed that night. Two months… Winter was in her birthing years here. The storms would be coming in another month, and then the world would remain white for three more after that. Levy closed her eyes and allowed darkness to overcome her. To wash away all her thoughts.

She was completely ready and raring to go in the morning. She had already finished her work in the stalls, had taken a bath, and was preparing to go and do her weekly clean when she was stopped by the Master of the place.

"Meet me in the room at the top of the stairs in the West Wing at eight." A pause, then, "And wear something that is not cut up into a disastrous display of rebellion, please."

She stared after him as he walked away and she sighed. He was a black hole of suspicion and she was an asteroid running off the power of inquisitiveness. If she wasn't careful, she would be sucked in to his dark game.

Seven was when she started to get ready. Levy opened all the drawers in her room then, even those in the bathroom. First she changed her undergarments, including putting on a very tight corset that she had often seen her stepsisters shoving their flesh into. With extreme care and precision, she laced it up using the reflection of the mirror, and then set to work. She flung open the wardrobe and pulled out every dress there was. From eggshell to turquoise to emerald to gold. And now she began weeding through them. Nothing close to white went soaring back into the wooden box it came from. Everything too dark soon followed. The gold was a bit too lavish, and she set it aside along with the sage, lilac and periwinkle one to maybe go back to later. When she was finished, she tried all aforementioned dresses on and ended up having a mental fight with herself on either the periwinkle or the gold. Too disgusted to want to have to choose, she threw herself into the bathroom and poked through the makeup there.

What the hell was all this for? She knew the powder, but when did it go on? She took the bandana she had worn before and tied back her hair, ready for war. 30 minutes later she opened the bathroom door, pleased with what she had been able to do with herself. It wasn't that big of a change. She had only swept a bit of blush over her cheeks and some earthy colors over her eyes. Now to choose the dress…

She stared at the bed in horror. Where the periwinkle and gold dress had once been laid, was a dress that hadn't even been in the wardrobe. The other two were back in the closet. This one was a dark red, as wine is when it is first poured into a clear glass. Perhaps even that of blood. She touched its folds and looked around. Nothing else had been touched… why—and she found a box right underneath the dress. The girl took it into her hands and popped it open with a single flick of her thumb. Earrings and.. a necklace. She stared suspiciously at the dress and the jewelry, then slid into it, looking in the mirror as she clipped the necklace in the back and slid the earrings into her ears, which had been pierced long ago. She was amazed that they were still open. And when she was finished, she dared to let her hair fall as she peeked at herself in the mirror. She stared unashamed at the sight. What. The. Hell.

Honestly, Levy had never felt so beautiful in her life. She opened up the drawer with the brush and found another black box. This time she did not hesitate in opening it. Instead, she slid it open and picked up the hair ornament inside. Slowly she ran the brush through her tangles. After, she braided two strands of her hair, pulled them back so they met in the middle behind her skull, and clipped the hair ornament onto them. A shadow flickered behind her on the wall and she froze, goosebumps flooding onto her flesh. But nothing happened, and she put herself into two black slippers and fled from her room just as the bell tolled eight.

"She will come, Gajeel, you have earned her trust and respect."

"And how would you know?!"

"We all know. Her attendants watch her closely to make sure everything is fine with her. They care for her deeply and make sure everything is set in her room when she wakes up."

"Does she suspect anything?"

"Not that we know of. Nothing is too drastic when changed for her. She is—" Footfalls came from the hallway and a voice peeked in through the closed door.

"Hello?" The beast turned and Levy pushed open the door. She looked him up and down as she walked in. "Were you talking with someone?"

"No."

"Oh. I thought I heard—"

"You should watch how far your imagination runs, soon you won't be able to catch up with it." Levy puffed up her cheeks and crossed her arms. Her walking towards him had stopped and her glaring had taken up the whole of her concentration.

It wasn't as if she wasn't surprised. She was. Very much so. The beast was looking as if he'd been made as a commander for the gates of hell. Steel armor crawled up his bodice, polished and with shoulder guards that had been carved into the faces of demons. Clipped to this was a blood red cloak that would not interfere with his stride. Suddnely he lunged forward and Levy put her hand on the door behind her, eyes wide. But he stopped, turned and growled as if he had been pushed by something… or someone, and then returned his gaze to her. He held out his clawed hand in silence and Levy looked at it suspiciously.

"What?" She finally asked when the silence became too much for her to bear.

"Shall we?"

"…Dance?" The great being cocked his head in confusion, a bit of impatience gathering in his large, armored shoulders.

"What the hell else is there to do in this room?" Levy scowled, and half had the mind to spit all the possible disgusting things that could happen here—the killing of a man for sacrificial purposes, the spilling of an animals blood just for game… one could SING in a room this huge and not have to care about whether or not they sounded well. But instead she shrugged and replied with just one simple phrase, moving towards him so that she was right in front of his body.

"We may." As she spoke, she held out her arms, to which he looked at with a bit of struggle. She was very aware of every move he made as he stepped closer to her, claws tapping against the beautiful floor. He was almost twice her size, but as soon as he slid his clawed hand around her waist, she was hit with reassurance. Small, but still there. Then it flickered in the gust of all her worries. What if she tripped? What if she stepped on him? What if she fell and, in his try to grab her, he cut her gut open and—her eye caught the movement of a mirror and she gaped as she stared at it. Her reflection…

"What is it?" The beast began to turn and she snapped her head back, flicked one foot at a time and sent her shoes flying (to which he stared in disbelief at her movements), put her hand on his shoulder and turned.

"Just wondering if you would be the one leading or if I must do everything." He furrowed his brow and suddenly she was no longer in her own pace. He began his own, slower than hers, but covering more ground with each step.

Imagination took hold of her now. The chandelier above them, draped in crystals, began hazy, and all around her, she imagined lords and graceful ladies also dancing. She could almost hear their footfalls against the floor. Levy turned, her earrings and necklace catching the light, and she watched as her imagination cast shadows along the wall. Where laughter reigned and crystal clinked with chopped ice. In the center, along the back, the curtains were suddenly being pulled back. And she watched as a very handsome young man stepped down and moved his way among the other rich families. His black hair was long, but well-kept and pulled back low with a tie. His suit was charcoal, with silver thread lining. Boots of fine leather and his face… was the same of that which was covered in a viel in the main hall. Her watch followed him as he maneuvered towards where she and the beast were dancing, and then, he stepped right in, ghostly merging with the creature. Levy now stared at the beast in awe. For she could almost see the resemblance.

He looked down at her now, and, in a voice she had never heard from him before, asked the same question he had before. "What is it?"

"You…" she shook her head and suddenly all the figures of her imagination dispersed into wisps of smoke and dust that hit the chandelier lights, cascading into the floor, never there in the first place. "What is your name?" The being stared at her as if she had asked the strangest question in the history of inquiries. Levy turned her head back to the great room that must have held quite a number of beautiful dances when it was still the keep of handsome princes and wise kings. "I do not want to address you as 'you' or 'creature' or anything that would demean your well-being…"

He let go of her then, and their dance stopped. She waited a while but still he did not speak. Levy felt the heat rise to her cheeks in embarrassment and she clasped her hands tightly in front of her dress, her face turned so that he could not pick up on her feeling utterly stupid.

"Gajeel." The word was so quiet, she had thought that it had just been something she imagined, but when she turned to see the demon with his gaze focused solely on the ground, she knew that it had not been her imagination.

So, like the spitfire that she was, the girl twisted around on her bare feet and marched right up to him, stuck out her small hand and dared to look him in the eye when he watched her approach.

"Levy. Levy McGarden."

For moments of awkward silence, nothing happened. And then, a flicker of unsure movement brought the beast's hand right to hers. He did not shake it, as she had expected him to, though. Instead, he bowed his horned head over it after lifting her hand slightly with his pointer finger and securing her with his thumb, he closed his eyes and dipped his skull.

"A pleasure, Levy McGarden."

"L…Likewise." So stunned had she been at his formal greeting that she barely noticed him when he stood straight again and changed direction on his heel, moving out of the ball room and leaving her to her thoughts there. Not five minutes later the clang of a loud clock announced that the time was nine hours after noon. Levy knew then that she would not be seeing Gajeel for the rest of the night. So she gathered her shoes and took her sweet time returning to her room, her hands behind her back and her head stuck in the clouds as she viewed the portraits of royalty once more. Every once in a while, she thought she saw something in the reflective metal of one of the suits of armor—or a shadow playing on the wall… but whenever she turned, she found nothing but herself to be there.

When she returned to her room, she sat down on her bed quietly and clutched her knees after kicking off those horrible, pinching shoes. She rocked back and forth, trying to figure out if what she had seen in the mirror was just a figment of her imagination, or if it had indeed been real. Levy did not doubt her eyes. She often caught onto things that most people missed because she was perceptive. Levy decided then that she had not been playing with her imagination at that time. Perhaps she had let it run wild later, but this was not then.

The reflection in the mirror had shown herself in a dress too beautiful for such a plain girl as she to wear, the same one she had put on… and a man, not a beast.


End file.
